A Winning Discovery
by Bonomania
Summary: House's team are set a challenge. Slash. Kutner wants to win, but will it be worth it? House/Wilson/Kutner/special guest and a little bit of everyone else. Alludes to S04E08 - 'You Don't Want to Know' - with a twist. Re-post after some tweaking.


A/N: This is a re-post from...some time ago, I can't remember how long, but I've just tweaked a few things. So, sorry if I've mislead you and you've already read it.  
Also, this fic is quite Kutner centric, but it's still about our two favourite boys XD

**A Winning Discovery**

Seeing House's team twiddling their thumbs in the differential room, Cuddy takes her chance. "I take it House isn't in yet?"

Foreman scoffs. "It's barely nine o'clock. If he _was_ here, I'd be worried."

"I've got a proposition for you," She waits until she has their attention. "I'm willing to offer one of you a week off work – _paid_ – and a substantial bonus to go with it." She places her palms flat on the table and leans in, her gaping shirt exposing her cleavage. The team don't know where to look. Cuddy bites her lip. "You just have to do one thing for me."

Taub rolls his eyes and sits back in his chair. "Let me guess, this has something to do with House, doesn't it?"

Cuddy slowly nods her head and pushes her weight off the table. As if slightly on edge, she slides towards the door and checks the corridor.

"What do we have to do?" Foreman says as Cuddy closes the door.

"I'm looking for some payback. I want one of you…" she pauses and sucks in a deep breath. For a moment she entertains the idea of this being a mistake, but remembers back to the time it happened to her and decides that, in all fairness, he deserves it. _An eye for an eye,_ she thinks to herself. Before she has a chance to talk herself out of it, it comes spilling from her mouth like air from a balloon. "I want one of you to bring me House's underwear." Kutner's eyes are the first to snap open, looking like he's just had a slap to the face.

"House's _underwear_?" Taub asks, completely bemused. "The ones he's wearing?"

Cuddy nods. "On my desk by Friday."

"It's not exactly fair. Remy's the only _girl_ playing; she's _already_ won," Foreman points out.

"And a week off isn't enough compared to what he's gonna put us through when he finds out." It's obvious what Taub's getting at, but she's not going to indulge him.

"I've tried to make sure the bonus will cover it. Dr Foreman, I didn't think you'd be so afraid of the challenge."

Foreman raps his fingers gently on the arm of his chair. He glances over at Taub who subtly nods – attempting to disguise it under a cough. "Two weeks off and we'll play."

Cuddy's sigh fills the room, but in all honesty, she was expecting to have to negotiate. "Deal," she says, "you've got four days. If you _cheat_, I'll know." And she leaves as swiftly as she arrived.

"I'll think of you when I'm lying on a beach somewhere in the Bahamas," Thirteen says. Foreman sends an incredulous look her way.

"Heels and tight jeans don't work on _everyone_, you know."

"They worked on you." Foreman smirks and follows Thirteen out the door. Taub shakes his head – _did that just happen?_ – and heads down to the clinic, leaving Kutner deep in thought. _This situation calls for a plan. A plan even House would be proud of._

-------------------------------------------------

"Hi, er…is that Lucas?"

There's a short, hesitant silence.

"Depends who's asking?"

"It's Dr Kutner, I work for –"

"Dr House. I remember you. How's it going?"

"Okay, I guess. Look, I'm gonna cut to the chase. I need your help." He pauses for a second, picking over his words. "I need some ideas on how I can get House's underwear."

------------------------------------------------

Due to the dry spell in the diagnostics department, Kutner decides to take his chance. Arriving at House's apartment building, he scouts around, Lucas in tow, and finally finds what he's looking for.

_LAUNDRY ROOM_

In his head, he can't imagine House _ever_ doing his own laundry. _They must have a laundry lady._

Piles of clean clothes sit in baskets on top of the machines, obviously ready for collection. It doesn't take long to find House's pile – the faded grey Van Halen t-shirt is a dead give away.

"Got them," Kutner says, holding a pair of off-white boxer-briefs up in the air, away from his body, "so what if he's not wearing them _right now._ Underwear is underwear. They won't –"

"Woah, woah! Wait, you didn't say it had to be the underwear he's _wearing_. Seriously, how long have you worked for him?"

Kutner looks at him blankly, vaguely resembling Garth from Wayne's World – sans the eighties rock and roll hair.

"Those are clean," Lucas says, pointing to the underwear hanging off Kutner's hand.  
An idea pops into Kutner's head, but Lucas recognises the look on his face and outwardly cringes.

"No, don't even think about it. That's beyond disgusting. She'll know and more to the point, _he'll_ know. Imagine having that over your head for the rest of your working life."

"It might not be _so_ bad," Kutner says a look of uncertainty on his face.

"The only thing worse than wearing another man's underwear is him _knowing_ you've worn his underwear."

Put like that, Kutner can't argue. His shoulders slump and he tosses the underwear back onto House's laundry pile – they're back to square one.

As they leave, Taub's car pulls up to the curb. He has the same idea in mind.

----------------------------------------------

The next day, after a night of trying to pluck ideas from an empty head, Kutner finds himself discussing the challenge with Chase.

"Taub cheated so he's out," Kutner says, matter-of-factly. "Where am I gonna find used underwear _other_ than _on_ him? This is impossible." Kutner throws up his hands and leans back against the wall, repeatedly kicking his heel back against the skirting board in frustration.

"He's a man. There's _got to be_ dirty underwear laying around his apartment _somewhere_," Chase says, scrubbing his hands.

"But how do I get _in_? He's not going to invite me in for beer. House isn't exactly known for his hospitality."

Chase smiles, amused by how desperately Kutner wants to win – it reminds him of somebody. Stepping one foot into the O.R, he replies, "That, my friend, is all down to you."

-------------------------------------------------------

On Kutner's orders, Lucas dons his baseball cap and shades and spends the best part of his day playing Columbo – chasing House around the hospital. On more than one occasion he thinks he's been caught, but a quick duck and roll into a patient's room (though not appreciated by the families) seems to do the trick and quells House's suspicions. It's not until the end of the day, as Lucas stands out of sight on the balcony peering through the door, that he finally catches a glimpse of something worthwhile inside House's office.

"The _Oncology Ball!_ Fancy dress! I told you about it. Several times in the space of a week!" Wilson throws his arms in the air. "You said you'd think of something. It's _tomorrow_ and I still have no idea what I'm going as!"

"Wear a suit and say you're one of the Blues Brothers."

"House!"

"Just go as yourself. Wilson, Boy Wonder. All you need is a cape. Better yet, tie-dye your lab coat," House says casually, lounging in his desk chair.

"Make-shift superhero's already taken by Manderson."

House checks his watch and groans as he gets to his feet.

"Why are we having this conversation when it's five o'clock and the L Word is waiting for me on Tivo?" he asks, picking up his jacket and rucksack.

"You said you'd help me!" Wilson's eyes are wide, his face flushed and oozing desperation.

"Maybe you should go as Cameron – you've certainly got the _whining_ down." Getting to the door, House turns back to an exasperated Wilson. "You ready?"

Mouth empty, Wilson sighs in defeat and nods, waving his hand towards the door. He too picks up his coat, shrugs it over his shoulders and follows House out into the corridor.

Lucas can't help but smile at how good it feels to see House – as miserable as he was those few months ago – finally reunited with Wilson. And, if he isn't mistaken, it seems to have brought them closer together.

-------------------------------------------------

Hearing of Lucas's idea, Kutner sleeps a little easier that night. The next morning, he sends Lucas off to spy again – this plan would hit a brick wall if they didn't find out what costume Wilson planned on wearing. Turning up at House's apartment in a Power Rangers outfit is all well and good, but if he knows that Wilson left dressed as a matador, things would undoubtedly go pear-shaped.

Lucas catches them mid-conversation.

"It's easy, you just _don't go,_" House says, leaning against the dividing wall of the balcony.

"Unlike you, I've got a reputation to uphold."

House grins. "I've got a reputation –"

"A _good_ reputation. I can't just tell them _no_. They'll want to know what happened and why and then guilt trip me into going. It's easy for you. _You_ could tell a group of _sick orphans_ that you'd rather eat your own _hand_ than go to a party with them and they'd just shrug and say, _that's just House._ You've got it good, my friend."

House scoffs. Wilson rocks back and forth on the balls of his feet, his hands stuffed firmly in his pockets.

"Anyway, it's a party," he says, before quietly adding, "I _want_ to go."

The grin on House's face quickly drops despite his best attempts to stop it. Wilson sighs and joins House propping up the balcony wall, mirroring his slumped frame. "I think I'll just head to the costume shop after work and take whatever they've got."

"When you get bored, bring back some beer."

"House, I'm not stealing _beer_ for you."

"It's an open bar. You'd be an idiot _not_ to."

"Too bad. I said you could come."

"And listen to you drone on about your little balding –"

"Okay, okay! I get it," Wilson shrieks – in a pitch higher than should be possible for a man – and holds up his hands.

Their conversation is interrupted by the juddering beep of Wilson's pager. Seeing this as Wilson's cue to leave, House too pushes himself from the wall and retrieves his cane from the floor.

"See you tonight, Wilson."

"House," Wilson says, tilting his head to the side and sighing once again. "I'm a department head, I can't leave early."

"Slip out the back. No one would even notice."

Lucas' eyes widen as Wilson reaches across the wall and hooks his finger in House's buttoned up shirt, pulling him closer. He places his hand over House's right hand as it curls around the crook of his cane.

"Look, like you said, _open bar_, I could be there all night. I gave you the option of coming with me and you said _no_." House rolls his eyes as Wilson teasingly steps back, creating distance between them again. "Worried you'll be bored tonight? You've got yourself to blame for that." Wilson shoots him a fond smile. "I'll see you _tomorrow_."

House shakes his head as Wilson disappears back into the hospital. Grinning profusely, Lucas makes a hasty exit from House's office and goes in search of Kutner.

---------------------

Later that night, Kutner drives to House's apartment – an eager and somewhat tickled Lucas riding in the passenger seat. They pull up to the curb, just beyond a street light, and look up to House's window.

"I bet you've waited your whole life to be wearing that," Lucas sniggers.

"It was all they had," Kutner protests, coming to a stop on curb near House's place. "It was this or Batman – and this comes complete with voice decoder." Kutner grins and puts on the helmet, speaking into the voice box. "_Lucas, I am your father._"

Lucas smiles and tries to stifle a laugh – failing and snorting embarrassingly.

"You ready?" he asks, calming himself down.

Kutner shakes his head and a low, echoing _noooo_ fills the car.

"You'll be fine. Just remember, don't say anything stupid. When you get them, just get out of there and _don't_ forget where you are and take off the helmet – _even_ if he offers you a beer. If he tells you to take it off, say no and that you want to get your money's worth…or think of something Wilson would say. Change the subject, lecture House on the Vicodin or something. That's what he does, right?"

Kutner makes a grab for the door handle, his gloved hands squeaking over his knuckles – if Lucas isn't mistaken, Kutner is rolling his eyes under his head-gear as he escapes the car, black cloak barely missing getting trapped in the door.

Kutner pulls at his gloves and straightens his cloak before testing the decoder again – _khhhhhrr Khhhhhrr …hey House… khhhhhrr …hello… Khhhhhrr_ – and rapping his knuckles on the door.

"I knew you couldn't stay away," House says as he opens his door. Standing aside, Kutner wanders in and hovers around the couch, uncomfortable and immediately berating himself for getting himself into this. No, for _Lucas_ getting him into this.

As House settles back into his spot on the couch, he turns the TV off mute and says to the air, "I had the last beer. There's no more in the fridge. _Somebody_ forgot to bring some home."

For a moment, Kutner is relieved – he can't drink beer anyway, not without removing the head of his costume. Reluctantly slumping down next to House, his body sticks to the opposite side of the couch like glue, leaving a chasm between their bodies. It dawns on Kutner just how unnerving it is to hear his own breathing so loud.

_Khhhhhrr. Khhhhhrr. Khhhhhrr. Khhhhhrr._

"I told you you'd get bored. Should've just stayed here, you missed the Truckenator _and_ Big Mama." Kutner goes rigid as House suddenly leans across him, his nose almost pressed against Kutner's plastic head gear. "You don't even _smell_ of alcohol – what did you _do_ all night? Drink milk in the ball pit with the Sarcoma kiddies?"

Put on the spot, Kutner can't think of any _typical Wilson_ response, so he settles for cocking his head to the side in a Wilson-esque fashion and attempting to bore into House through the tiny blacked out windows covering his eyes. When House turns back to the TV, Kutner visibly relaxes, sinking further into the cushion beneath him.

They watch the end of Monster Trucks and the beginning of funniest home videos show and Kutner almost forgets his agenda. He occasionally snorts through the voice decoder, laughing _not_ at the show, but at the fact House seems to find the programme so hilarious. They don't really speak and Kutner realises that, although the long silences are weird for _him_, House and Wilson probably spend most of their evenings like this; comfortable in each others company. He's almost jealous. When House throws his head back – a loud _oooohhh_ and a chuckle coming out like the _chugger-chugger_ of a train – Kutner can't suppress a hearty laugh.

"Darth Vader doesn't laugh," House quips.

"_Khhhhhrr._ I think even Darth Vader would laugh at a guy getting kicked in the crotch. _Khhhhhrr_." As soon as he says it, Kutner finds himself picking over every word that managed to jump from his mouth.

_Would Wilson find this funny? What if Wilson doesn't like home videos? What if House knows that? Would Wilson say 'crotch'? What if…_

But House barely stirs. He's still facing the TV, glancing occasionally at the cloaked figure sitting next to him.

"Why are you still _in_ that thing?"

"I want to get my moneys worth," Kutner says casually. He rehearsed it on the way to the door.

"So you're keeping it on all night?"

"Well, until I go home, yeah." The poorly masked look of dejection on House's face makes Kutner's anxiety build. He's not sure what's wrong, but House, all of sudden, doesn't seem too happy. _But then, when is he ever?_ Kutner muses.

"I'm hungry. There's some chips in the cupboard." House isn't asking. Stiffly, Kutner moves into the kitchen, watching House – in the back of his mind, there's still this niggling feeling that House has known since the moment he walked in the front door and he's just playing games. Part of him knows this isn't true, but there's never any certainty with House. In the kitchen, Kutner scans for the chips. He works his way around the room, opening and closing the cupboard doors until he finds a bag of cheesy Doritos.

"What's wrong with you tonight? I asked you to get chips, not go looking for Narnia."

_You didn't_ ask _me to do_ anything, Kutner mutters in his head. He knows that sometimes it's just best to hold your tongue.

Flopping back down on the couch, Kutner tucks his cape underneath himself, puts the bag of chips between them and goes back to pretending to watch the TV. House huffs and mutters under his breath as he undoes the seal on the bag; obviously a job Wilson normally does.

As he's sat there, Kutner tries to formulate a proper plan. Preferably one a bit more beneficially convoluted than the, "Pretend to be Wilson," that Lucas had thrown into the air and he'd stupidly listened to.

_I can't just get up and wander casually into his bedroom._

Resting his head back a little on the couch, he finally comes to the rather unhelpful conclusion that he can't do anything with House still in the room, so he'll just have to wait it out.

_The guy's been drinking beer all night; he'll have to pee soon._

Kutner desperately hopes that House's bladder has aged with the rest of his body – it may be because it's just occurred to him how awkward it would be if the _real_ Wilson did decide to drop by, it may also be because he's sat next to House, his boss, pretending to be his best friend and plotting to steal his underwear – but, as if to spite him, he has to pee too.

Several minutes later, working hard to take his mind off his 'bladder crisis,' Kutner forgets the leather glove on his hand that squeaks every time he moves, forgets his disguise and the fact his breaths sound like he's breathing through a tin can, and dives a hand into the bag of chips.

He brings the chip up to his mouth and quickly remembers the flaw in his plan. _Damn it_. He puts the chip back in the packet and groans at the salty, cheesy mess clinging to his gloved fingers as if by static electricity. Rubbing his hands together seems to do nothing but roll the orange bits into clumps. They _still_ won't come off. The congealed cheesy crumbs start to smear across the gloves, dulling the shine.

_Damn, they're gonna make me pay for this._

Eventually, of course, House notices.

"You know, you _can_ take off the gloves."

Beneath the mask, Kutner rolls his eyes, still trying to brush the bits off his hands.

_That would be all well and good if I wasn't Indian and I had lily-white skin like Wilson._

"Better yet, you could take it _all_ off. I know you find it hard to control yourself around me, but it's a bit hard to concentrate over all that heavy breathing."

"_Khhhhhrr._ I'm not wearing anything underneath," Kutner quickly says, hoping the subject will drop. House raises his eyebrows.

"That's never stopped you before." A smirk forms on his lips and Kutner is truly stunned. He'd never pictured Wilson as a party animal – he'd pay to see the situation House is alluding to. He'd always thought that Wilson was born in a suit and tie, that his mum had bought him a briefcase for his first birthday and a pocket protector at Christmas. _He must have been drunk,_ Kutner concludes.

House scrutinises the costume, looking 'Wilson' up and down. "Don't you think it might make certain…_other_ activities a little difficult?" he says slowly, placing another chip in his mouth.

Kutner's mind immediately takes a flying leap and comes up with a bizarre and convoluted theory. It's no secret that House has used hookers in the past, but he can't help wondering if, somehow, Wilson was involved.

_Maybe Wilson uses hookers too._ His mind ventures off on a tangent. _Maybe the 'other activities' are code for 'hooker night.' Maybe they share. Maybe the hookers are already on their way over… Maybe that's what House wants me to do tonight. No, this is weird. I know Wilson well enough, he wouldn't be into that._

He's beyond feeling nervous now, even _after_ trying to reason with himself – his mind can't decide whether it's best to stick it out, for the sake of the underwear, or run for the hills in the vague hope that he'd manage to leave without getting his cape stuck in the door.

He notices that his breathing's increased in volume, the electronic _khhhhhrrs_ coming in quick succession, almost matching the anxious pace of his heart.

When, all of a sudden, House stands up and rounds the couch, Kutner feels the tension in his body ease up.

"Gotta pee," House says cheerily. As soon as the bathroom door closes, all thought of his mission is thrown to the back of Kutner's mind as he fumbles with sticky fingers to grab the pen by the phone. He doesn't know Wilson's handwriting, so he can't leave House a long message – not that he'll have time to anyway. After a moment of frantic thought, he opts for the most understandable (and least incriminating) excuse and writes on the pad;

_911, sorry.  
Wilson_

As he hears the toilet flush, the next thing he does is bolt for the door.

----------------------------------

Lucas yelps as the black, cloaked figure swings the driver door open and throws itself into the car. Without a word, Kutner puts his foot down and the car shoots onto the road like it's spring-loaded. They round the street corner, tires squealing and kicking up grit, before Kutner finally pulls over. It all happens so fast that Lucas' breathing is almost as loud and heavy as _Darth Kutner_ – a name he proudly came up with as he was waiting in the car. As Lucas' heart slows back down, he manages to speak.

"Mission aborted?" he wheezes.

"_Khhhhhrr._ I don't wanna to talk about it. _Khhhhhrr._"

"O-kaaay."

"_Khhhhhrr._ I was right. This –" Kutner growls and pulls the helmet off his head. "This _is_ impossible."

"Nothing's impossible, but it's probably good that you didn't go through with it. I was thinking; she's a smart…and _hot_ woman; she'll probably have a way of knowing what underwear House is wearing today."

"Dr Cuddy? There's no way she could know that…unless her and House are…y'know."

Lucas chokes on his tongue and realises just how naïve Kutner really is.

"Maybe you should ask _Wilson_," is all Lucas says, though there's a sense of knowing in his voice – something he's holding back.

------------------------------------------

After the awkwardness of last night, Kutner finds himself standing outside Wilson's office door, hand poised to knock, but he can't bring himself to do it. He likes Dr Wilson, thinks of him as a second, less threatening mentor, but House's strange behaviour along with the sickening rumble in his stomach makes him question if he really knows Wilson at all.

When he finally plucks up the courage to go in, Wilson's reaction is clumsy and quite frankly a little unnerving.

"House and _Cuddy_?" Wilson lets out a chuckle, but his heart isn't in it. He continues bumbling, "I don't know who told you that but…just…no. They're not…together." And he lets out another shaky laugh. When he feels the burning in his cheeks, imagining the pink blush painting his face, he manages to stammer, "Can I help w-w-with anything else?"

"Uh, no, Dr Wilson. Sorry. Thanks." Closing the door behind him, Kutner misses the loud sigh of relief Wilson lets out as he leaves.

The talk didn't help at all. Kutner's still not convinced, reasoning that, _of course Wilson would vehemently deny House's involvement with Cuddy. He's probably been sworn to secrecy. God, he's probably in on_ this _too._

Feeling the dark air of defeat descending on him, he shuts himself away for the rest of the day in the clinic. The patients are boring; sniffles and blood pressure checks followed by more sniffles and more blood pressure checks, but that gives him more time to think of ideas. Friday is only one sleep away. If he can't conjure up a faultless plan by then, there's no bonus, no holiday _and_ a butt-load of P.I fees to pay.

----------------------------------------------

At a quarter to five, Lucas bursts into exam room one, Nurse Previn hot on his tail.

"Sir! I don't know who you think you are, but you can't just walk in on –"

"It's okay, Brenda," Kutner says, holding up a hand in apology. Thankfully, he's between patients.

Lucas waits until Brenda is out of ear-shot before he begins.

"I've got it," he gasps, slightly out of breath. "You might not like it, but I wanna get paid and if you don't win, I don't see that happening." He pokes his head out into the clinic, scanning the area, and then pushes the door closed. "He's going to a bar with Wilson tonight," he says grinning. Kutner sighs.

"I'm not breaking in to my boss's apartment."

"You don't have to," Lucas says, holding up a key. "Dr Wilson really needs to learn to lock his balcony door at lunch. Don't look so worried, it's not stealing when you're gonna give it back."

Kutner's lips curl upwards and he can already start to feel the warm rays as he sunbathes on the beach. "Okay, when?"

"Wilson's picking him up at eight, which means he'll _shower_ first," Lucas says, raising his eyebrows, waiting for it to click into place.

Seconds later, Kutner's eyes light up.

"There it is," Lucas sing-songs. "Take this," he hands him the key. "Get there before eight and make sure you watch them leave. As soon as they're gone, grab and run."

Slipping the key into his pocket, Kutner can already feel the cool, grand sense of victory building under his skin.

-------------------------------------------------

In the car, _All Along the Watchtower_ plays quietly in the background as Kutner intently watches the front of House's building. He doesn't really like the song, but he feels less like a criminal with the radio on.

When the door opens and the two men step onto the street, Kutner tips the peak of his cap downwards to cover his eyes. From under the cap, he sees them walk side by side to Wilson's car. He's surprised at how nice and oddly reassuring it feels to see the evidence that House actually has a life outside of work. As Wilson unlocks the car, House gesticulates wildly and Wilson shakes his head, but Kutner can't get over the fact that, as they both get in, they're smiling. Genuine smiles. It makes him smile too.

As soon as their car is out of sight, he gets out – deciding it's best to remove the cap, they always make people look more suspicious – and strolls into the building, trying his best to look like he belongs there. At House's door, he quietly pulls out the key and does a quick scan of the area before slipping inside.

The first place he checks is the bathroom. It's not very big; bath, shower, basin – all the basics with a little bit of room to tread. There's no washing basket. No clothes strewn across the floor or left in the bath. Nothing. He's curious when he spies the medicine cabinet above the sink and doesn't hesitate when he opens it. He's just like House in that respect. The number of bottles in there is not surprising. The Vicodin is a given, but the Compazine? The large bottle of Pepto-Bismol, three quarters empty? He picks up the big box on the top shelf. Artificial Tears?

_The pharmacy label's been ripped off._ He thinks about it. _Of course House wouldn't go to a doctor to get these._

Already, he's itching to tell Foreman that _maybe House isn't a rock, maybe he's just got,_ he stops and reads the back of the pack, _reduced tear production._ It's almost funny.

The bottom shelf, unlike the others, is set out neatly; a line of old brown medicine bottles perfectly spaced, in a row. Most of them are empty. The labels are stained and faded, but he can just about see the date on the bottom of one of them. _1922_. And another, without a label, shaped almost like a house dripping with honey – _Plantation Bitters, 1860._

_House could make a fortune._

Having made sure all the bottles were facing forward, he decides to venture across the hall, into the bedroom. Clothes are draped over the back of a chair, the bed is sloppily made, but there's nothing littering the floor. No lonely, unpaired socks and, more annoyingly, no underwear.

Next stop is the kitchen, though Kutner knows he's not going to find anything. No one, not even _House_ would keep used underwear lying around in the kitchen.

For a split second, he's stumped. In that second, everything comes crashing down and two words pulse in his head from ear to ear. _Laundry Lady._

"_Damn_. House isn't even _playing_ and he's won," Kutner mutters to himself. He gets a shiver, feeling the heat of the Hawaiian sun suddenly drop behind a thick black cloud.

He stops, mid-sigh, when hears an unexpected jangling of keys. As they scrape the door, his body takes flight and scrambles into the closet, accidentally leaving the door ajar with no time to click it closed.

"…desert me to go hang out with your _soon-to-be-dead_ –"

"House, don't call them that," Wilson warns. "And I didn't _desert_ you; I told you where I was going."

Kutner hears the front door click shut and the thud of House's cane moving further into the apartment.

"Did you take the costume back?"

"Yeah, this morning. Why?" Wilson asks innocently.

"Damn, I had one hell of a dream last night."

"That's…a little creepy."

"You missed your chance to pull your saber on me," House says, teasingly. For a moment, Kutner doesn't care that he's close to being found out. He doesn't know what to think. On the one hand, House is always suggestive, on the other hand, alarm bells are ringing, but he's not quite ready to acknowledge what they mean.

"You mean my _wand_," Wilson says with a chuckle.

House looks at him like he's crazy. The fact is they're both confused. That night at the costume shop, Wilson walked in as a doctor and left as a black-cloaked Severus Snape – wig and all. He'd spent the entire ball telling everyone how the costume was for the kids. Thankfully, it went down well as many of them were dressed from head to toe in their Hogwarts uniforms.

"What are you talking about?" House asks, raising an eyebrow.

Kutner bites his bottom lip, waiting for the inevitable to happen, for this whole fiasco to unfold itself.

"Wait…w-what are you…oh, never mind; let's just find your wallet." Kutner smiles and exhales loudly, immediately covering his mouth when a small, relieved giggle escapes. He puts his face close to the gap in the door and sees House standing in the middle of the floor with an unmistakeably mischievous grin on his face, dimpling his cheeks.

When House doesn't make any effort to move, Wilson's shoulders slump – he knows he's been played.

"This degree of gullibility should be criminal. Since when would I _not_ let _you_ pay?"

Wilson sighs and plants his hands on his hips, but he's scarcely holding the grin from his lips, resigning himself to the fact that he simply should have known better.

"If you didn't want to go out tonight, you could've just said something. You know, talking; how normal people communicate."

"You sound like a cell-phone commercial. Anyway, nothing's fun without trickery," he says cheerily. Kutner watches as House drops his cane and leans on the back of the couch. "Thought we could try what we missed last night."

Dropping his gaze to the floor, Wilson gnaws on his bottom lip. The intense look in House's baby blues is enticing and Wilson finds himself loosening his tie before closing the short distance between them and pressing their mouths together.

From his position in the closet, Kutner only sees Wilson's back and the way he's pinning House to the back of the couch. He can't make out what's going on, though it doesn't take him long to figure it out when he sees both of their hands either side of Wilson's body, fingers curling together like they remember one another. When he can no longer deny what he's seeing, the panic hits and Kutner realises that he'll never be able to see his boss in the same light again.

In amongst the chaos in his head, it clicks. _"Maybe you should ask Wilson,"_ Lucas had said. Kutner shakes his head, rolling his eyes to the skies, slating himself for being so stupidly naïve. Returning his attention to the gap in the door, the positions have changed. He can hear them shuffling around, moaning lightly, and at the grating sound of a zipper, his own body deceives him sending a small but welcome shiver through his body.

Pushing the door open a little more, Kutner sees a flash of an elbow before he spots the feet hanging over the edge of the couch. He's conflicted, uncomfortable even; the consequences of getting caught don't even bear thinking about, but it's so surreal that he keeps watching, barely blinking, trying to make sense of it all. He jumps when as a pair of slacks is tossed over the back of the couch, quickly followed by shirts, jeans and all manner of other things. With a thud, the two bodies fall to the floor.

"Hmph!"

"You okay?" Wilson pants.

"Fine. Don't…stop," House gasps. His body is tingling from his chest to his toes, the heat of Wilson's body feeling good against his skin. As he moans, Wilson's mouth quickly covers his, their tongues battling for space. Wilson's hands trail down House's ribs until they reach his bare hips and House finds himself arching into Wilson's touch.

A question darts around Kutner's mind, repeating, unrelenting and incredibly unhelpful – _what do I do? What do I do? What do I do?_ But his mind is too busy firing the questions to even think about answering them. The heavy breathing gets louder, as does the moaning and Kutner has long since scrapped the theory that House has rented out the Darth Vader costume. He imagines House's feet to look older and, for some reason, bigger, so when he sees them stretch into a point, a low groan filling the room, he can't help but look away.

_I didn't go to med school to be a voyeur,_ he says to himself. That's when he spies something outside.

Wrapped in the jeans on the floor, right in front of him – there they are – his ticket to two weeks in the sun. At the sound of Wilson sucking in a breath, moaning House's name, Kutner instinctively covers his ears. Squeezing his eyes closed, he thinks back to the days he'd spent glued to his couch, head-set on, playing Red Faction online with his college buddies. _That's all this is,_ he thinks, _a radical game of 'Capture the Flag.' That's all._

As the bodies continue to writhe on the floor, Kutner slowly pushes the closet door wide enough to squeeze through. As soon as he's out, he drops into a crouch, tensing as when he realises just how exposed he is.

When the tension fades and he's able to move his legs, he makes a grab for the pile of clothes in front of him, waiting until the breathing and fumbling and writhing and moaning rise to a crescendo before taking what he needs and shuffling to the front door – trying to pretend that he doesn't have another man's boxer-briefs hanging off his finger.

Sprinting to his car, Kutner is smiling so wide he can feel the strain in his jaw. He thinks about what he's just witnessed; his boss and his boss' best friend going for a drink together, his boss and his boss' best friend holding hands, his boss and his boss' best friend having sex. Putting the car into gear, all thoughts of Hawaii are forced from the forefront of his mind as he tries to digests the bizarre events of the night.

Driving away from House's apartment, Kutner can't help but worry what he's going to dream about tonight.

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Scooping up his clothes, Wilson hands House his cane, leaving him and his precious pride to get up from the floor of their own accord. As he starts up the shower, House rounds the couch and subconsciously clicks the closet door closed. Hooking his jeans on the crook of his cane, he frowns.

"Wilson, where's my underwear?"

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GARTH FROM WAYNE'S WORLD

OLD PLANTATION BITTERS MEDICINE BOTTLES


End file.
